Wanderlust
by Chariline
Summary: 2P!USx1P!UK: wanderlust: a strong desire to travel. Everyone has their reasons for it. What are theirs? T for language.
1. You Told Me About Nowhere

"Look buddy, d'ya want a black eye or d'ya wanna gimme some goddamn cash?" the redhead growled, pinning the man to the dirty brick wall by his collar. He was shaking. Al could feel it in the man's muscles as he dug around for his wallet, holding it out to Al with trembling fingers. He snatched it and dropped the man, who scurried away - a wise choice on his part - like the rat he was. Al grinned crookedly at the amount of money in the wallet - a few hundred bucks; it must've been payday - and pocketed it, strutting coolly out of the alleyway a moment later, cooler than a goddamn cucumber, if Al did say so himself. The money would help the almost-empty fuel tank in his car. It wasn't much of a car, really; it was an old, beat-up, keyed Toyota, not exactly known for safety nowadays, but Al liked it just fine; it suited him, really.

Climbing into the driver's side of said car, which had been parked not too far down the street, Al drove the short distance to the town's only gas station - some chain place, with enough cars for him to blend in with. Al liked crowds when he could make them work him; he liked having the option of anonymity, of being able to completely disappear - especially since he had just robbed a man in broad daylight without so much as a lowered hood. A fucking brilliant move, that had been - but Al had needed the money, his own initial reserves dried up from the last pit stop.

Where had that been? Al knew he was somewhere in Georgia now; he would've known without the aid of a map because he hadn't yet seen any signs for entering another state, and he had begun to drive north yesterday. It was still too close to Florida for his liking, too close to home, a home that didn't exist for him anymore.

Pulling up to the pump after the old lady in front of him had screeched out of there in her dingy old pickup truck - must have seen him coming in her rearview mirror, Al thought, lowering his shades slightly and winking at his own reflection - Al got out of the car and pumped his tank full, inwardly cursing the decidedly higher prices, knowing they were only get to get higher the farther north he went.

At the last minute, Al decided to pop inside the convenience shop attached to the station and buy a pack of water bottles - he could go without food for another day or two - for the road, knowing he wasn't going to stop again until his car needed more gas.

The store was ice-cold but Al didn't shiver; he was never cold no matter what he wore. His combat boots thunked purposefully across the dusty linoleum floor as he trekked to the back of the store to take a leak and grab his water, then up front to pay for it at the little stand that passed for a checkout counter. There were too many cameras around for Al to try and jack it, though he had considered attempting it anyway, because hey, whatever he could get for free was going to help him.

The cashier caught his eye - blond, porcelain pale with freckles across the bridge of his nose, green-eyed, scowling - yeah, Al could totally swing for a pretty face like that. Tossing a lazy but confident smirk on, Al leant against the counter and opened with, "Darlin', ya got a dollar on ya? I told my mama I'd call home when I fell in love." Born and raised in the south, Al had grown to perfect what idiots up north would call his "southern charm", which was really a well-laid-on drawl and a cheesy pickup line.

The cashier scoffed as he rang up Al's twenty four pack. "How many girls have fallen for that?" he asked - in an impeccable British accent, nonetheless. Oh yeah, Al thought, I gotta have this one.

"None of 'em yet, wanna be the first?" Al replied, smirk only growing at the slight flush on the cashier's cheeks.

"That doesn't work on me," he answered smoothly. "Your total is $9.77." He held his hand out and Al dug around in his pocket for a ten, gently setting it in the cashier's hand.

"If you're interested, I'm goin' 'cross the country in that car out there." Al jerked his head at where his car sat outside, hungrily watching the cashier's eyes follow the movement. Al leant forward, reclaiming the attention he had lost to his car. Lowering his shades and the volume of his voice, Al said, eyes boring into the cashier's, "I'm gonna pull 'er up to the curb. If ya wanna come, you'll be out there." Al picked the case up off of the counter, hefting it easily under one arm. "Bring some cash, darlin'," he added with a grin, "I may be a southern gentleman but I ain't payin' for every date." He left the store and went into his car, starting it up as he cleared off the front, seat, half-tossing the case of water bottles into the back seat. Driving slowly, Al pulled his car up to the curb where the cashier was standing, a paper bag in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Al wordlessly opened the passenger door, letting the other teen clamber in before driving off.

It wasn't until dusk began to fall and the cashier lit up his first cigarette that Al asked, "What's your name, doll?"

"Arthur," was the answer, exhaled at him with the greyish cloud of cigarette smoke, a perfect Cheshire grin accompanying it. "Yours?"

"Al."

Silence stretched on for that first night, just Al and Arthur and the highway illuminated by the fluorescent stars.

* * *

**A/N: So yeah this was an idea I had a while ago and typed up that same while ago and I kinda like it enough to put it up here but the characters are wonky because it's 2p!USx1p!UK and I feel like I'm crap at writing 2p!US even in AU form like this (my 1p!Arthur I'm relatively solid on) but yeah, so that's what this is, and it's a road trip, sort of, and yes. I might post the other part I had up if there's enough interest. It has more than two parts, but the first two are all I've written. So yes, please drop me a review or a favorite or anything if you're interested or not interested. :)**

**~Chari**


	2. I'll Take You To Bermuda

Night became day and Al was amazed to watch it happen as he drove; he couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank or pissed and he loved it; he loved the ignorance in the sunrise, the bliss in not having to remember a single goddamn thing.

Arthur woke up shortly after the sun had risen; there was something about the sleep lines still imprinted on his face that made Al want to turn his head and outright stare at Arthur. "Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty," he said, reddish-brown eyes cutting to look out the windshield rather than at Arthur's sleep-tousled hair sticking up every which way. "Ya missed the sunrise."

Yawning, Arthur only grumbled an unintelligible response, rearranging himself in his seat so his limbs weren't curled up beneath him anymore. "Piss off," he muttered, "every sunrise is the same."

"Someone shit in your cereal box, darlin'?"

"Don't fucking call me that."

Al smirked and switched lanes rapidly, getting off at the next thruway stop. "Lemme buy you and me both a coffee. It's shitty gas station coffee, but maybe it'll put a smile on that pretty little face of yours."

He could feel the glare Arthur shot his way. "I can buy my own coffee," Arthur retorted tersely, leaving the car in what Al would call a downright diva tantrum.

"Like a goddamn princess," Al muttered to himself, chuckling with amusement as he got out of the car and pumped his tank full, running inside to nick food and drink for the road once Arthur had gotten back, a steaming cup of black coffee firm in his hand.

It was past noon when they started talking again, Al initiating it because damn, he was getting really tired of hearing nothing but silence. "So, Artie," he began, noticing the way the green-eyed teen twitched at the shorthand of his name. He smirked. "What's a guy like you doin' hoppin' into stranger's cars? Got a death wish?" he asked, somewhat mockingly, the drawl coming through stronger than usual today, most likely due to Al's complete lack of sleep over the past forty-eight hours. He was liable to pass out at the wheel but felt no need to inform Arthur of that.

"Something like that," Arthur replied, smooth as silk, and the way he said the words, in such an offhand manner, as if it was nothing at all to own up to maybe wishing you were dead, rose Al's hackles. The hell was his game? "Why are you running away?"

"Ain't runnin' from nothin'," Al answered immediately, stubbornly, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Feeling Arthur's eyes on him, calculating and analyzing, Al flashed his usual crooked grin at the other teen. "If somethin' was after me I'd face it, not run from it like some yellow-bellied coward." He snorted at the very idea of running away, for extra emphasis, of course, and not because his throat was suddenly a little too tight for his liking or anything of that nature. "I got a bat full up of rusted-up nails in the trunk an' a head fulla piss an' vinegar," Al added, smirking sleazily as he glanced sideways at Arthur, gauging his reaction.

To his credit, Arthur didn't even flinch or betray any emotion other than the collected look he'd been wearing since the conversation had first placed the spotlight on him. "One of my brothers is like that. You two would get along swimmingly," he answered, staring straight ahead at the road that was maybe going by a little too fast.

"How many brothers ya got?"

"Four. The eldest one is the one you would like. He's a runner too."

Al puffed up indignantly. "Told you, I ain't no runner. Got no time for that shit."

"You have time for this trip. Or are you on spring break in July?" Arthur smirked.

Al changed the subject. "Anyplace ya wanna go? I got a map in the box, if ya wanna take a peek at it." He paused, letting Arthur retrieve the map from the glove compartment before continuing. "The final goal's California. But I wanna see some sights, ya know, and as long as you pick anywhere-" Al stopped talking, made himself stop, because the words "anywhere but here" were right on the tip of his tongue, where they had been resting for the past year and a half.

Arthur pored over the map for nearly two hours, only looking up to ask things like "What state are we in?" and "What route is this?" - stupid shitty questions, in Al's opinion, 'cause if Arthur would just look up once in a while, he would know exactly where they were.

Al, impatient, finally asked, "It's not that hard to find shit on there Artie, where d'ya wanna go?" He didn't know why it mattered to him so much that Arthur picked somewhere to go, somewhere definite, but it did, and that unnerved Al to the point where his fingers began to tap-dance on the steering wheel.

"Shut up," Arthur told him, amicably, before answering with, "New Orleans, in Louisiana."

Al almost cursed. That meant they would have to switch routes and go south instead of southwest and damn it, why couldn't he say no to the idea? "You figure out which routes I gotta take and it's all yours, buddy," he answered, settling on that, confident that Arthur would take too much time trying to find the highway and end up missing his chance.

Unfortunately for Al, Arthur knew exactly where he was going. They were on their way to Louisiana before midnight and Al couldn't help but think that he might have made a mistake in tempting Arthur to come along - until he glanced over and saw that Arthur was fast asleep, his thick eyebrows furrowed together even in slumber.

Al turned his gaze back to the road and drove on into the night, afraid to let sleep claim him as it had Arthur.

* * *

**A/N: Well, it's been an awful long time since I've actually looked at this... I think I may have even written a third part to this story that seems to go nowhere, but re-reading it makes me excited to get working on it again, even if it does end up going nowhere. Nothing can often make something, you know. ;)**

**Quick question; does anyone think I make Al's accent too thick? I've only occasionally heard people from deep South talk so I may totally suck at it/be enforcing stereotypes. **

**And if anyone else has any more commentary, I'd love to hear it. :)**

**~Chari**


End file.
